


till when; how long

by spreadthighs



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:44:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3568427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spreadthighs/pseuds/spreadthighs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>jenson learns that sometimes, you shouldn’t fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	till when; how long

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blurhawaii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blurhawaii/gifts).



The breeze is cool against Jenson's skin, and he makes his way through the forest, careful to keep his footsteps light lest he may startle his prey. On good days he is a farmer, getting by with the vegetables he plants. On bad days he is a hunter with a bow and arrow on his back, hoping to catch a wild rabbit or with luck, a boar for food. He moves quickly, taking note of the position of the sun in the sky. He has to leave the forest before nightfall — all sorts of things lurk within, and by then even his bow and arrow would not be able to save him.

A sharp cry causes Jenson to stop in his tracks. He frowns, looking around him, trying to locate the source. There is no one in sight, the ground is littered with leaves and grass and...

By a tree trunk is a small fox, caught in a metal trap. Jenson approaches it slowly, wary of his surroundings now. He has been to this part of the forest before, but has never come across traps for small animals like this. He does not lay them at all, for he would rather the animals he hunts die a quick death. But he knows that foxes are prized for their fur and the medicinal properties of their livers, and looking at the fox as it struggles to break free stirs something in his heart. So he squats down, inspecting the trap. It is rusty, possibly laid by someone a long time ago and had forgotten all about it. The fox lets out another cry when Jenson reaches for the metal. The fox's golden fur is matted with blood, and the wound looks particularly vicious.

'Hey little one,' Jenson murmurs, fiddling with the jaws of the trap. 'Hold still now.'

The fox yips in pain but stops moving. The metal trap springs free soon enough, and Jenson lifts the fox out of the trap, careful not to touch the fox's wounds. He lays the fox down, and the fox lets out a soft whine.

'I'm afraid that's the best I can do.' Jenson offers the fox a smile, spreading his hands. He has nothing on him except for hunting tools, and he is not versed in the healing arts.

The fox looks at Jenson, and for a moment it is as if it is assessing him, eyes unblinking. Then as if it had understood what Jenson had said, it rises to its feet and leaves.

 

Jenson forgets about his encounter with the fox soon after.

 

Years later, the village is hit by a bout of bad weather and blight, ruining much of the harvest. For the first time in a long while, Jenson finds himself wondering if he will have enough to survive. What he hunts is barely enough to sustain him, let only purchase daily necessities.

That is when a stranger shows up at Jenson's door.

 

'Who are you?' Jenson asks, frowning.

The stranger walks with a curious limp and he carries a basket of fruits and vegetables on his arm. His hair is golden, shining in the sun, and Jenson cannot take his eyes off him.

'I am Nico,' he says, voice soft. His hair falls into his eyes as he thrusts the basket out at Jenson. 'This is for you.'

Jenson stares at the basket in disbelief. 'How?'

'I... I am the son of a friend from the next village, beyond the woods.' Nico says, tripping over his words.

'Who?'

Nico's eyes dart around, as if he is literally searching for an answer to Jenson's question. 'M-mark,' he stammers at last. His eyes flicker up to meet Jenson's, and he swallows hard.

'Mark?' Jenson looks at Nico, surprised. He remembers Mark fondly, his old schoolmate in days of yore, when they had gone to school together to learn how to read and write and count. He remembers wrestling with him in the sun, rolling grass with mud on their cheeks and bruises on their shins, but that had been many summers ago. Mark had been older than Jenson by a few years, but never would Jenson ever think that he would have a son of this age. 'I haven't seen him in years, to think-'

'I must leave now,' Nico cuts in hurriedly. 'I apologise. But I have to go now, or I will not be able to return home before nightfall.'

'Right,' Jenson says, nodding. 'You should go. I mean. Thank you. Tell Mark I said thank you. I'll visit him soon.'

Nico smiles weakly, before turning to leave.

 

Jenson does not remember seeing Nico's retreating figure.

 

Over the next few days, Nico becomes a regular visitor. Jenson tries to invite him to stay, but each time he always has a good reason to refuse — he has to get home to help with firewood chopping, to help with cooking or to help with the gathering of herbs. Jenson asks about Mark, asks if he could go with Nico to thank his friend for his generosity but Nico tells him that it is unnecessary, that he will relay his gratitude to his father for him, there is no need for him to partake in such an ardous journey.

Jenson wonders, of course. He tries to return the favour, offering Nico a freshly caught rabbit to take in back to his father, but Nico turns him down, as always, saying that there is plenty to eat at home.

 

Today, Nico turns up with freshly caught fish in a basket. He pushes it into Jenson's hands, ready to leave when Jenson catches his sleeve.

'A storm is coming,' Jenson says. 'I can't let you go back like this. How can I face Mark if I let something happen to his son?'

At this, Nico winces. But it is gone in seconds, and Jenson blinks.

'A storm,' Nico repeats softly. For a moment, it is as if he is looking past Jenson, at something in the great beyond, before he ducks his head and looks down. 'I will stay then. I thank you for your hospitality.'

 

Jenson and Nico share a meal by the candlelight while the rain falls outside.

'I apologise for imposing on you,' Nico mumbles, barely touching the food Jenson had given him on his plate.

'Don't worry about it. You'd need a boat to go back in this weather,' Jenson teases, and Nico manages a small smile. 'Anyway you shouldn't have bothered coming by today. Did Mark send you?'

'No,' Nico replies hastily. He looks down, as if he is ashamed, and Jenson frowns. 'I went fishing on my own, and I thought...'

Jenson waits for Nico to continue, but when Nico does not, he stops, putting his utensils down. 'Does Mark know you're here?' he asks, voice gentle.

'Yes,' Nico says. 'But I-'

'I'll send you back with an apology then,' Jenson cuts him off. He frowns, noticing that Nico's expression has not changed. 'Well, I can't do anything about Mark now, but if you're worried about the storm, would it assure you to know that in case it floods in here, we could use my bed as a float?'

Nico looks at Jenson, alarmed. 'Flood?' he squeaks.

Jenson laughs, shaking his head. 'I'm joking. It won't flood. Trust me.'

 

Jenson offers Nico the bed because it is only polite — Nico is his guest and besides, Jenson can take the straw mat on the ground any day. But it appears that Jenson's joke had gone too far, and Nico insists that they share the bed just in case it floods.

So this is how Jenson winds up with Nico's body pressed awkwardly against his own. He is unable to sleep — the rain is far too noisy and so is the sound of his heart beating in his ears, all too aware of the proximity of someone else. He has not lain with another before, or rather, not like this, in any case. He lives too far out of the village and too close to the forest for any family to seriously consider him as marriage material, and his parents had been too poor to provide him with anything more than basic education at the school two villages away. In his younger days he had brief flirtations with the younger sisters of his schoolmates which made way to fumbling with some of his schoolmates, both parties not quite knowing what they were doing.

Never mind that Nico is supposed to be Mark's son. Mark's young son, and Jenson has no idea how many summers he has seen but there is something about him that tells Jenson that he is much older than he seems. And it is unsettling, everything about Nico is unsettling and makes Jenson wonder and think of strange things and, _and_ -

Nico's warmth is searing hot, and it burns.

 

The next morning, Jenson awakens to the sound of a beautiful melody.

It is Nico sitting at the edge of the bed, with a leaf in his hand, making music. He drops the leaf on his lap when he realises that Jenson is watching him intently, lying on his side on the bed. 'Did I wake you? I apologise-'

'Don't,' Jenson says, waving his hand. 'Don't mind me, just keep playing. It was beautiful.'

Nico's cheeks flush, and he ducks his head, picking up the leaf once more.

 _Beautiful like you_ , the words are unspoken on Jenson's tongue and really, he should not be thinking something as... Sinful, perhaps, as this for Nico is his friend's son, he should be looking after him and not thinking of him in this way and moreover, Nico is no blushing maiden but a young lad. But he looks at Nico in the morning light and it is as if Nico is glowing and Jenson's stomach lurches.

 

The storms grow lesser in frequency, and things are looking up for the vegetables that Jenson plants. He does not have to rely on hunting to get by now, and for some strange reason, Nico still visits him every now and then, bearing gifts. This time he is more willing to stay, smiling shyly when Jenson brushes against him by accident.

But there is something about Nico that Jenson notices with each visit. His limp seems to be more pronounced each time he shows up, and each time Jenson brings up visiting Mark it is always met with vehement disapproval, and Jenson wonders.

 

It does not take long for things between Jenson and Nico to develop into something more. Some things do not have to be spoken, it communicated only by touch and proximity is more than enough.

 

How and why Jenson ends up kissing Nico is a mystery. All Jenson knows is that he has one hand cupping Nico's cheek and his skin is soft and smooth, a sharp contrast to the roughness of his palm. When Nico pulls away, he looks at Jenson with his eyes glowing and lips parted, flushed.

'We cannot do this,' Nico says, looking down, hands fisted on his lap.

'If it's Mark, I can explain to him-'

'No,' Nico says, shaking his head. 'I must not,' he says, voice sorrowful.

'But why?' Jenson reaches for Nico, tipping his chin upwards. 'You want to,' he says, thumb tracing the contours of Nico's lips.

'Yes,' Nico answers, voice shaky. 'I am sorry.'

 

Nico is more beautiful than Jenson could have ever imagined in the moonlight. He clutches at Jenson's shoulders, rutting against him and he gasps, arching up and burying his face where Jenson's neck meets his shoulders as Jenson takes his pleasure from him. Their clothes lie discarded in a pile by the bed, and Jenson grip is tight on Nico's hips as he moves.

'I am so, so sorry,' Nico whispers afterwards, voice broken, lips pressed to Jenson's skin.

'Don't apologise,' Jenson says, stroking Nico's hair, holding him close.

Nico lets out a strangled sort of noise, a half moan, half sob.

'Nico?' Jenson asks, worried.

Nico's only reply is a kiss to Jenson's lips. 'Go to sleep,' he says. His eyes shine in the dark, shimmering with what looks like tears.

 

Jenson awakens with a weariness in his limbs and he feels drained, exhausted beyond belief. It is as if he has aged a thousand years and he gets up slowly, bones aching. His bed is empty, and he searches for Nico but he is nowhere to be found and it is only then that he realises that beside his clothing is a small pile of leaves and twigs. He struggles to bend, and when he picks up a leaf it finally dawns on him.

Nico was never Mark's son. Jenson's mind connects the dots slowly, remembering what the folktales say about spirits from the forest. All those years ago — the fox with the golden fur, leg caught in a trap.

The leaf falls out of Jenson's hand. The morning air is filled with the sound of birds singing. It is not a song of greeting, but a song of sorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> folklore used for the fox spirit is a blend of the chinese 狐狸精 (huli jing) and the japanese 狐 (kitsune). huli jing typically require yang (male essence) and gain this through the extraction of semen. hence jenson becoming weaker after having sex with nico at the end of the fic, and why nico is reluctant to go further with him.


End file.
